


Coming Back

by Mellie_Art



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, cape cuddles!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22131250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellie_Art/pseuds/Mellie_Art
Summary: Bruce has seen Joker in bad ways before. Not very surprising given the life the clown leads.But he’s never seen Joker like this
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 26
Kudos: 427





	Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A New Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248730) by [Mellie_Art](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellie_Art/pseuds/Mellie_Art). 



> Hey! So I guess I’m writing AUs of my AUs (au-ception?) now.
> 
> This is connected to my other fic [A New Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248730/chapters/18902681) and for those who haven’t read it I’ll offer a short summary here because I don’t expect anyone to read a 100k+ fic just to understand a one shot. Basically, Joker winds up in Arkham for just under a year and, during that time, is experimented on by Crane. In ANG, Batman doesn’t visit him so this fic is an idea of what might’ve happened if he had. It’s just an excuse for hurt/comfort and cape cuddles, really. 
> 
> (The editing for this was half assed at best so I apologise in advance)

Bruce has seen Joker in bad ways before. Not very surprising given the life the clown leads.

But he’s never seen Joker like this.

Physically, Joker’s never fit anyone’s definition of normal but, right now, sweat-soaked and even more emaciated than usual, Joker barely passes for human. Growling and whining and muttering words that Bruce can’t make out, he’s a far cry from the man who’s made it his life’s work to terrorise every last soul in Gotham.

But as disturbing as the sight is, that isn’t what gets to Bruce.

It’s Joker on all fours, head pressed to the floor. Joker Cowering. Joker _afraid_. Bruce has seen and felt what Crane’s fear gas can do many more times than he likes to count but he never thought he’d see the day it took the Joker as its victim. Bruce feels his blood turn to ice.

He steps forward slowly, making sure his footsteps are loud enough for Joker to hear. Startling him in this state wouldn’t be a good idea. When Bruce is only a foot away, Joker makes a sound, as if trying to inhale all the air in the room, and his hand shoots out to latch onto Bruce’s boot with a surprisingly secure grip. 

Bruce goes still and so does Joker, or as still as the trembling will allow. It lasts for a few seconds before Joker begins to laugh, a raspy, chilling sound. His fingers squeeze like they’re trying to figure out if what they’re touching is really there, and then they claw and Bruce takes it as a sign to move closer. 

He lowers himself to his knees and Joker’s hands climb up Bruce’s body, touching every part of him they can reach. They slide over the symbol, circling it several times before moving to Bruce’s neck and chin, fingers bitterly cold against Bruce’s skin. He lets Joker have his fill, doesn’t flinch from the fingertips even as they move over his lips, and takes the chance to get his first good look at him. 

Joker’s eyes are what catch Bruce’s attention first, wild and impossibly green. They’re circled by heavy shadows that suggest far too many sleepless nights and his lank, unwashed hair is almost pure white, the only green left clinging faintly to the ends that hang just past his chin. He looks like a ghost. Bruce doesn’t like the feeling that he’s only just arrived in time.

“Y-you...you’re here...”

Bruce knows the effort required for Joker to say even that much, which means he’s fighting. That’s good. It also means that Joker isn’t quite as far gone as he looks, but that sliver of relief quickly turns to anger as he wonders how often this has happened before. It’s clearly not the first time. 

It prompts Bruce to slide his arms carefully around Joker to pull him closer. At least he doesn’t have to go through it alone this time.

There’s no fight, which hopefully means Joker has accepted that Bruce really is real, and when Bruce finally replies to Joker’s question with a soft _yes_ , there’s another sharp intake of breath before Joker presses himself in as tightly as he can, fidgeting until Bruce’s arms lock securely around him.

Ice cold fingers return to Bruce’s jaw. He shifts position so that his back is resting against the cot’s metal frame and pulls his cape around them to offer Joker what heat he can. Joker’s always run at a temperature lower than most but this is unusually cold, even for him. And that, along with the weight loss and obvious symptoms of fear gas, leaves Bruce wondering what the hell Arkham’s up to this time. Malpractice is nothing new and Joker’s always been a favourite for staff to vent their frustrations on but the asylum’s always been careful to avoid outright torture before, if only for its own sake rather than the patients’. 

Another rush of anger comes at the thought of how many other patients are being treated this way, left in their cells to tremble on cold floors, too. Joker’s strong. He can take it. But there are many here who can’t.

It leaves Bruce with a lot of questions - is Crane here? Did he do this? Who let him and why? - but they’re going to have to wait. Right now he needs to do what he can to help Joker through this.

There are a few vials of anti-toxin in Bruce’s belt - Crane’s been off the radar for quite some time but it’s always better to be safe than sorry - but he doubts they’ll do anything. It takes a very special kind of poison to reduce the Joker to this state and only a special sort of antidote will cure him. Still, it’s all he’s got so he pulls out a vial and opens it before lifting it to Joker’s lips. Injecting would be better, faster, but he’s already seen the track marks lining Joker’s arms and thinks it’s probably best to avoid needles for a while. 

“Open,” he says, gently tapping the vial against Joker’s lips and Joker does slowly, swallowing the liquid even though he has no idea what it is. A sign of the trust Bruce has never gotten used to. 

Dropping the empty vial back into the belt, Bruce readjusts his hold on Joker and prays the anti-toxin will do some good.

It takes time but eventually Joker’s babbling dies down, although the trembling remains, and it’s hard to know if it’s thanks to the anti-toxin or the sudden fixation Joker has for the symbol on Bruce’s chest. He’s always seemed to find comfort in it, something that apparently even fear gas can’t change. It’s no surprise. Batman has been many things to Joker over the years but terrifying has never been one of them.

Bruce doesn’t think on it any more than that and lets Joker trace a finger around the symbol, the slow and steady movement of it soothing Bruce, too, making him soften to accommodate the man in his lap even more. The building follows suit, falling quiet and still, and, although Bruce would’ve preferred it to be under different circumstances, he appreciates this rare moment of peace between the two of them.

He doesn’t realise he’s zoned out until he feels Joker’s hand halfway down his arm, following the joins between the panels of Kevlar, and is too slow to stop Joker wrapping his hand around one of the gauntlet blades, slicing open his palm. 

Bruce pulls Joker’s hand away immediately and assesses the damage. The cut isn’t deep, luckily, but it’s enough for a line of blood to run down Joker’s arm. Bruce wipes the blood away carefully with the cape and wraps Joker’s hand tightly within it before tucking Joker’s arm between them, away from anything else sharp. He has no idea why Joker did it and isn’t going to ask because he knows he probably won’t like the answer. 

Whatever the reason, it’s apparently helped. Joker presses his forehead to Bruce’s chest and lets out a deep, unsteady sigh, a shudder running through his whole body. The trembling subsides, breathing evens out and his body melts against Bruce as he falls into a fitful sleep.

-*-*-*-*

“You’re here...”

It’s the first thing Joker’s said for almost five hours. His voice is hoarse and barely audible but it’s coherent, steady and Bruce feels his shoulders drop with relief. There were several times he thought Joker wouldn’t make it and one time, not too long ago, where Joker went so still that Bruce had to check his pulse to make sure he was still alive. 

And he is alive, he _is_. And, by the sounds of it, he’s pushed through the poison and managed to come out the other side. 

“I’m here,” Bruce eventually replies and tries not to think about how differently things could have gone.

Joker fidgets and Bruce lowers his arms, giving him space to move and stretch as he wants. Joker only manages to straighten his back a little before he slumps against Bruce again. He’s weak and not just from this episode. When the hell did he last eat?

Judging by the ribs Bruce can feel through Joker’s top, it wasn’t recently, so Bruce reaches into his belt again to pull out a protein bar. It’s not much but it’s a lot better than nothing. 

He opens the packet and breaks off a piece, holding it up to Joker’s mouth like he did with the vial. Again Joker doesn’t hesitate, opening his mouth to let Bruce push the food inside. But there might be some regret when he begins to chew, frowning and Bruce can’t really blame him; the bars are made for nutrition rather than taste. But Joker doesn’t spit it out so that’s something. Maybe a sign of just how hungry he is. 

Joker winces as he swallows the food. “Yuck,” he says before opening his mouth again for more, even closing his lips around Bruce’s thumb to catch the crumbs.

Joker finishes the whole bar and chases it down with water from Bruce’s hip flask. But just doing this much has taken it out of him, eyes growing heavy and in less than a minute he’s asleep again.

It’s strange to see Joker like this. He’s usually so manic and bursting with energy, like an out of control jack-in-the-box. The still, almost lifeless man in Bruce’s arms feels like someone else entirely. 

This time, Joker’s nap lasts maybe half an hour before he jolts awake, eyes wide and wet. He’s breathing fast and Bruce tightens his hold and quietly repeats “I’m here” until Joker finally comes back into the room. He leans into Bruce again, resting his forehead against Bruce’s cheek as his hand covers the symbol on Bruce’s chest.

They sit in silence for a while as Joker’s breathing slows down and Bruce quickly checks the time. It’s almost six. The morning shift will begin soon. He can give Joker a few more minutes but then he needs to start asking questions.

Just as Bruce is about to begin, Joker slides his palm across the symbol and pauses when he sees blood. It’s not much, just enough to show up against the silvery gold but it seems to confuse Joker all the same, who’s looking at his hand as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen it.

Bruce takes his wrist and turns it around to show the thin and angry red line running across Joker’s palm. Joker touches the mark with his thumb and presses in hard enough to make himself hiss.

Bruce wraps both his hands around Joker’s to stop him and their eyes meet. In Joker’s eyes, there’s still a ghost of whatever haunted him during his time under the toxin’s influence but their gaze is much sharper now, enough to see the discomfort on the visible part of Bruce’s face, which makes Joker almost smile in response.

“Had to be sure,” he murmurs.

Bruce doesn’t say anything to that, just keeps looking at him, noting the exhaustion and wishing he could give Joker a little more time. But time’s almost up.

“What’s happening in here?” he asks

Joker doesn’t reply. His eyes drop down and his expression becomes unreadable.

“Is it Crane?” Bruce pushes. The toxin is Crane’s but it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the one administering it. He’s been known to sell his wares in the past. Maybe that was the deal that secured his recent release.

Still no response. Joker dips his head as if to rest it on Bruce’s chest again but Bruce hooks a finger under his chin and carefully angles his face back up. He can rest in a moment, Bruce just needs an answer.

“Joker, is it _Crane_?”

A long second passes and Joker nods. 

“He’s here?”

Another nod. 

“ _Right now_?”

Joker nods a final time and twists his head out of Bruce’s grip before immediately snuggling back into his previous position. Predictably, the answers have left Bruce with even more questions. He doesn’t understand why Arkham would chose to team up with Crane, if that’s even what’s happening here, but he’s going to find out. And he’s going to stop whatever they’re doing to Joker.

Joker. 

Looking down at him, Bruce wonders what the hell to do with him right now. He can’t stay here but in his current state, Bruce can’t take Joker with him either. And even if he could, where would Bruce take him? The only place he can think of right now is the cave...but that brings up a world of issues and -

There’s a soft, electronic hum and light spills into the cell from underneath the door. Time’s up.

Joker, who had almost drifted off to sleep again, stiffens. Bruce runs his hands up and down Joker’s back to reassure or soothe or something but it doesn’t work. Joker sits up straight, eyes flitting between the door and Bruce, his fingers curling and scratching against the symbol.

“I have to go,” Bruce says, reluctantly and Joker’s eyes zero in on his, too wide, too bright. “But I’m coming back,” he adds.

“You’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” Bruce repeats, hoping the promise will stick. Right now it feels as though Joker is ready to do something stupid and Bruce can’t have him locked up in solitary. It was hard enough to get to him here with all the recent changes Arkham’s made.

“Coming back...coming back…” Joker repeats it to himself, still scratching the symbol. 

Bruce covers Joker’s hands with his and makes the promise once more, fighting the urge to say to hell with it and take Joker with him right now.

Joker stills again and slowly pulls his hands out from underneath Bruce’s. And there’s only a split second’s warning before he takes hold of Bruce’s face and lunges forward.

Surprised by the sudden speed and strength, Bruce can’t do anything more than grip Joker’s waist before he feels cold, cracked lips press against his.

Bruce doesn’t kiss back - at first. He keeps still and lets Joker have a moment that he clearly needs. But there’s something about the kiss, the simplicity and honesty of it, the hint of desperation, that manages to find a crack in the walls Bruce keeps around himself and work it’s way in, making Bruce soften and lean into it. 

There’s a moment of hesitation and then Joker opens his mouth and, without thinking, Bruce does the same, deepening the kiss just a little as his arms wrap around Joker to hold him tighter. It doesn’t go any further than that but it’s more than enough to send Bruce’s mind reeling when it finally catches up to what he’s doing. 

He still doesn’t pull away, though. That’s left to Joker, who finishes the kiss by pressing his lips to the tip of Bruce’s nose.

Three long, deep breaths and Joker moves, climbing out of Bruce’s lap and onto the cot. Bruce covers him with the blanket before pulling the last two protein bars from his belt.

“It’s food,” he says in response to the look of disgust crossing Joker’s face again. He tucks them underneath the pillow and, before he can stand up, Joker grabs his hand, clinging to it tightly. 

“You’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” Bruce replies. “Tonight.”

For a moment, he thinks Joker might not let go, maybe even hopes he won’t, but he does and Bruce only lets himself look back once as he leaves.

-*-*-*-*-*

In the car, Bruce takes off the cowl, closes his eyes and breathes. Just breathes. That was... _a lot_ . Given how things were left between them last time, he knew seeing Joker again would be difficult but _this_...

Bruce opens his eyes and calls Alfred. 

“Good morning, sir.” Alfred's voice is crisp and a welcome distraction. “Successful night?”

“No,” Bruce replies, starting up the car. “We need to talk.”

[](https://i.imgur.com/OTefCSG.jpg)


End file.
